


freedom is just an empty promise.

by elareel



Category: Real Person Fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-07
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-18 10:29:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28616613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elareel/pseuds/elareel
Summary: Story of my life.





	freedom is just an empty promise.

Connections and attachments to things or people may either raise you up to greatness, or they will tie you down and restrict you from doing what you want. Being free from said attachments is a luxury many wish to be able to afford. Simply if you are free in today’s world, you are most likely either wealthy or you have nothing to lose. As for the rest of us, we have school, jobs, and anything else that causes us to think too hard. In any case, freedom is the one thing that seems to be out of reach in my world. 

I was done with arguing with her.  
Done with putting up with her.  
Done with her. 

As she yelled at me, I grabbed my backpack, threw in a water bottle, and ran out the house on my bike. As I quickly got on my gloves, shoes half on, I got out of my driveway and started sprinting down the road. My head dead set on where I wanted to be in that moment and I quickly rode through the streets to get there. The wind, cool, helping me calm down a little, allowing me to think properly. I turned the final corner, I hopped off my bike, and went to the tree.  
A tree in a lonely forest that no one knows about except for me.  
Alone, peaceful, and temporarily off the leash she held me on. 

Everyday was a war of screams.  
“Everyday. Every damn day.”, I muttered.  
Everything I said was censored and sent through many layers of filters before the words would ever reach my lips, always ending with not actually opening my mouth to speak. In fact, speaking up only worsens the situation. Nobody believes me. Nobody understands me. If they did, my puppeteer would veer me away from the situation.  
The thought of “what happens next?” causes my eyes to glaze over and rot.  
I sighed. “At least she can’t find me here.”, I whispered.  
Though the tree was supposedly my escape, the anticipation of the possible happenings of when I returned home was the only thing I could ever think about. 

I was too unfocused to ride home safely, so I just walked it all of the way back.  
Riding my bike was ritualistic.  
I would always go the same route back home, going an extra uphill loop just so I could reach a downhill point-of-no-pedaling. The amount of joy that little bit of downhill gives me will never be measured. It was the final stretch. The calm before the storm. Or so I thought.  
I opened the door and was surprised to find that I was greeted with a smile. I was confused, but I soon understood that nothing had to be said to understand the trouble I was in.  
Most people think that the scary part would be the yelling or the slaps on the wrists, but it is actually the silence. 

The pure darkness that complete silence surrounds is a dangerous, unavoidable game that plagues the player far more than any beating would.

That night, I went to bed worried. Far more worried than I had ever been. The silence that I was left with allowed for those back-of-the-head thoughts to creep forward and occupy my mind.  
Nothing happened when I woke up.  
Nothing happened the following day.  
It was as if nothing had ever actually happened in the first place.  
My dread was soon replaced with anger.  
“Why wouldn’t she say anything? Why won’t she acknowledge it? She can’t just sweep it under the rug.”, I thought.  
But that is exactly what happened. 

She knew exactly what she was doing, manipulating my thoughts like she could just pick and choose psychological damage that she left me with. She had won the battle and as of right now, I don’t know who will win the war. 

Something that people don’t understand is what the impact of being controlled leaves you feeling. So while you may think you are free, you never really are. It will forever be in the back of your mind, occasionally creeping back to the front of the thought line. 

True freedom is forgetting. That is how you escape.


End file.
